


Campaigning for Peace

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: With the fate of the world in the hands of a demon, an angel, two ex-antichrists, and a defunct computer engineer, sometimes decisions come down to the roll of a die.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560190
Comments: 24
Kudos: 84





	Campaigning for Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ‘chestnuts’. All humor. Completely tongue in cheek. Don’t take anything seriously. One suggestive remark at the end.

“ _No_.” Crowley snatches the tanned parchments from a baffled Newt and rolls them into a tight coil, eyeballing the young man with open and palpable disgust.

“What do you mean _no_?” Newt counters, brow furrowed, angrier and more confused than their party has ever seen him.

“I mean _no_.” Crowley shoves the parchments into a duffel sitting beside him and pulls out, instead, a leather-bound text. “One word, two letters, very simple concept to grasp … for _most_ people.”

“But … you’re not even willing to _try_?” Newt’s voice rises sharply, his gaze darting from the demon’s inscrutable eyes to the black canvas bag by his thigh. It’s only pulled closed, the scrolled parchments nestled within out of Newt’s reach, peeking through a slim gap mockingly.

“That’s what _no_ means, _boy_.” Crowley flips through the pages of the book, perusing the text with dramatic intensity to show he’s moved on from this argument. Other eyes gauge Newt’s reaction – with sympathy, with understanding, with ridicule and sly grins.

Newt knows he’s being watched, and his face burns because of it.

“You … are … _infuriating_!”

“So I’ve been told, and by better men than you!”

“Hey, hey, guys!” Adam intervenes in an attempt to calm soaring tempers. “Arguing helps no one but the enemy,” he reminds them, though he already has numerous times to no avail. “What if we go in a different direction and I wield the flaming sword?”

Crowley’s eyes snap his way. A fire behind them burns dangerously, his slit pupils going paper thin, telling Adam he’s overstepped his bounds. “Oi! No! That’s _Aziraphale’s_ weapon!”

“But he’s not here!” Adam protests. “And it’s the most powerful weapon we’ve got right now!”

“Don’t matter! No one but Aziraphale touches that sword! End of discussion!”

“I think you may be projecting on that sword a bit too much,” Adam mutters under his breath, double checking to ensure Crowley didn’t hear. He doesn’t doubt the accuracy of his remark, just the timing. Crowley’s eyes have begun to turn from their usual venom yellow to a dark, fiery orange – something Adam has only seen once before.

Needless to say, things didn’t end well that day.

“I have another idea,” Newt ventures even though no one asked and no one intended on asking. “What if I seduce him?”

Crowley and Adam’s heads whip around, both demon and ex-antichrist staring at him strangely.

“What?” Adam croaks. “Why!?”

“You know … as a distraction.”

“ _You_? Ssseduce the Lord of Hell?” Crowley nearly chokes on his bifurcated tongue. “That’sss rich! If you work your mojo the sssame way you work a computer, we’ll all be turned to flaming goo, ssswimming in our own intestinesss!”

“Cool!” Warlock pipes up from behind the screen of his 3DS. He glances up when the group goes silent, staring his way with varied expressions. “I mean … yuck,” he corrects, shaking his head in fake contrition. “Don’t want that. Nope. Not at all.”

“Excuse me,” Newt starts haughtily when he notices Crowley’s smug smile in Warlock’s direction. “What _exactly_ is your contribution? Besides playing video games and making sarcastic remarks, that is?”

“Oh, I have no contribution,” Warlock replies without looking up.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I was an antichrist, too, you know. Probably more of an antichrist than Adam here. Raised by an actual demon, I was. I’m waiting for you all to die so I can step over your corpses and take over. Rule the burning pile of intestinal soup.”

Adam shakes his head, but he can’t help the grin he has for his unlikely friend. Crowley’s smug smile becomes positively effervescent.

Newt rolls his eyes. “It’s good to have goals, I guess.”

Bells jingle in the distance.

An alert! Someone else has entered the field!

But it's not a hostile, so no one pays it any mind.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fell!”

Aziraphale, reading his newspaper at his desk a short distance away from the heated debate, looks up at the voice he’s been expecting for the better part of the afternoon. “Tracy, my dear! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“It has been a while since I could come over for tea,” she says, embracing the angel when he stands to greet her. “I’m looking forward to making up for lost time.”

“My goodness! Is it still snowing outside?” Aziraphale asks when Tracy removes the hood of her pink peacoat and a generous dusting of flakes falls to the floor.

“Just a bit, just a bit. None of it’s sticking though so that’s good news. The cold’s more a bother than anything. Brr!” She shivers out of her damp coat. Aziraphale hangs it up on the coat rack to dry. “That wind goes right through you! But it’s nice and toasty in here, isn’t it?”

“No, no, no!” Crowley roars, pointing emphatically at the book spread open in front of him. “We might as well just start launching flaming food stuffs at them then!” He chortles so loudly and with such an edge, it makes everyone, including Aziraphale, jump. “That’s what we’ll do! Take down the whole horde with flambes and hors d’oeuvres! Lump in some chestnuts while we’re at it! That’ll do just as well than your asinine idea!”

“I still think seducing him …!”

“Will you get off it, you dolt! It’s never going to happen!”

“How do you know!?”

“H---h---how do I … how do _I_ know!?” Crowley sputters, gesturing at himself in disbelief. “Because I’m a _bloody demon_! I’ve lived under Satan’s rule for _thousands of years_ and let me tell you, you’re not his type!”

Tracy listens, hands wringing out the chill, her grip tightening as the conversation continues.

“What … what’s going on?” she asks nervously. “Are they …” She swallows hard, a flashback from months prior zipping through her thoughts like a bullet train, speeding her heartbeat and rendering her momentarily breathless “… preparing for another Apocalypse?”

“Not at all, dear! Now at all! They’re playing some fool game called … uh … _Prisons and Lizards_ , I think.”

“ _Dungeons and Dragons,_ angel,” Crowley corrects alongside a put-off, soul-wrenching sigh.

Aziraphale points at his exasperated husband. “ _That’s_ the one.”

“It looks like they’re taking it rather seriously,” Tracy says, quietly accepting Aziraphale’s offer of a seat.

“Oh, yes. They’re quite involved.”

“Do you ever join them?”

“Oh, I’m a part of their _campaign_ , as it were,” he explains, forgoing the tea and bringing out a bottle of his best brandy. “In absentia.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Ha! Fun!? Let me tell you a thing about fun!” Aziraphale has to steady his hand while he laughs so not a single drop of alcohol hits the table instead of Tracy’s glass. At times such as these, it would be a sin to waste good brandy. “With the Dowlings gone away on vacation and leaving Warlock with us, and Newt having some kind of existential slump, this lot has started hanging around my bookshop 24/7, and I haven’t gotten a moment’s peace! Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy their company, but it can be a bit …” He clears a collection of less socially appropriate modifiers from his throat and goes with “… _much_.”

“It does seem a little crowded in here.”

“Yes, well, there’s usually more of them, so this is a refreshing change.”

“I notice Anathema isn’t here,” Tracy remarks a tad judgmentally, scanning the shop just to be sure she’s not hiding between the stacks, rifling through Aziraphale’s older tomes in the occult section.

“Exactly. With her fiancé here, she’s enjoying some much needed peace and quiet. Getting some work done. And I don’t blame her. But that means _I’ve_ been tasked with babysitting. With the boys wrapped up in that game, this is the first chance I’ve gotten to read my newspaper cover to cover. Later on, I’m going to try my hand at actually _finishing_ a crossword puzzle!”

“You sound excited,” Tracy teases.

“I am, dear! I am!”

“You’re ridiculous!” Newt crows, slamming a hand on the table. “All of you! _Ridiculous_! I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you!”

“The feeling’s mutual!” Crowley retorts, spiking Aziraphale’s brain with a perturbing sense of déjà vu.

“Acid slugs it is,” Adam declares, picking up a large, multi-sided die and offering it to Warlock.

“Nah.” Warlock dismisses the die with a shake of his head. “Still waiting on that sweet intestinal soup.”

Aziraphale raises his glass. “It may not be quiet, but it is peace.”

“Or something like it.”

“Cheers.” Aziraphale bobs his glass Tracy’s way in a meager toast, closes his eyes, and indulges in a longer than normal first sip. When he opens his eyes again, Tracy is grinning at him like a mad cat. Aziraphale frowns self-consciously. “What?”

“So, if you’re babysitting, that makes you something of a father figure. Yes?”

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale admits with a heavy sigh.

Tracy leans in. “Does that mean Crowley gets to call you _daddy_?”

Aziraphale’s eyes pop. Seconds later, he snorts into his brandy. “Hush you!”


End file.
